By the time I got home, the sun was just starting to warm the sky - late enough I had been able to grab food from Mrs. Glubz, but early enough for that early morning peace.

  I sat on my bed, staring out the window to the world below while I finished my food. I was too excited to sleep, yet too exhausted to think clearly. I ended up just enjoying my food while the sun finished rising.

  Across the way, my catly neighbor Mr. Mekopolis pounced on a pigeon with a penchant for particularly zealous cooing. He didn’t eat it though, just flattened it and then swatted it off the roof. I watched it plummet to the ground before looking back up to see Mr. Mekopolis staring straight at me, his top hat as unbothered as ever.

  Without breaking eye contact, he licked the paw he had used to swat the pigeon with far too much verve. It felt like a declaration of war. I glanced out the window toward the ground below—right where I’d once accidentally swatted a top-hat-wearing toad of my own. When I looked back up, he was gone.

  I wonder if a roasted newt would be enough to convince him not to flay me in my sleep, I idly wondered, getting up to wash my hands and face in the water basin. I resolved to ask Mrs. Glubz if she knew where I could buy one. If I had to… I could always ask It.

  I ran my hands through my hair, surprised by how dirty it felt. Ok, what was more surprising was that I noticed. My hair had always been just that. Hair. It was there - I left it there until it got long enough to get in the way, then I chopped it off. Back in the mines that usually meant someone I trusted shearing it off with a rusty blade. Now? I hadn’t had a haircut since my tragic escape.

  I am getting a haircut, I decided, grabbing a few coins. I’d worked for Vaarg long enough to have money I didn’t want to lose, so most of my money was in the bank. I looked at myself in the hammered metal that served as a mirror. Maybe the distorted image that stared back shadowed more than I realized.

  I turned to leave. The bed looked inviting (even with the faint green glow from Stupid’s eldritch portal seeping from beneath). I was exhausted, but too pent up to do anything about it. Besides, the haircut was kind of exciting. And spending money on something not food or rent? Weirdly exhilarating. It almost felt like I was doing something wrong.

  I took off with a smile.

  ——

  The first issue hit me the moment I walked out the inn doors.

  Where do I find someone who can cut my hair in the non-human quarter?

  A kobold barber made no sense. I couldn’t imagine pulling off a goblin’s hairstyle—Stupid had gone with the “flash-bang bald” look, but I didn’t have the cranium to make that work.

  The thought of a troll touching my head gave me shivers. Orcs only ever did ponytails. And while some of the braids looked kind of cool… I wasn’t ready for the cultural commitment.

  The human quarter was hours away, and even then, I’d only reach the slums. Doubt their barbers would give me much better than I was used to.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  So really, there was only one option:

  Centaurs.

  I mean, they are the only ones in the quarter who have got actual hair on their heads.

  Perfect.

  I can’t say I would’ve made the same decision if I wasn’t half delirious with exhaustion.

  But I was.

  So I happily pointed myself towards the Stables and continued on my way.

  —-

  The Stables was the term everyone used for where the centaurs lived. Everyone but the centaurs that is. I had heard if you called it the Stables in front of a centaur, there was a good chance they would kick you in the face.

  I couldn’t imagine many outcomes other than the obvious.

  It was kind of neat to see the different ways the races lived though. The trolls only had one way into their section - or Hole - and they had carted giant boulders into the city to make a kind of gate. Kobolds hung furs from their hunts. Goblins didn’t really care, they were probably the closest to humans.

  The centaurs had a massive gate. When I say massive - I mean it.

  Apparently centaurs had druids. I’m guessing that’s how they managed two towering trees on either side of the road that lead to their homes. Trees adorned with twisting vines flowering every color you could imagine. The gates themselves I had never seen closed, but they looked to be grown from the trees.

  It might have been grand once, but like everything else in the non-human quarter, it looked like any grandness has long since passed. Both trees were dead, the vines an attempt at adding color. The gates looked broken enough that I wasn’t sure they could keep anyone in — or out.… if they could even close.

  I don’t know why, but it made me sad.

  Two centaurs stood guard, casually chatting with each other. They both eyed me strangely when I approached.

  “Uh… I’m here for a haircut?” I tried.

  One of them raised an eyebrow. I saw a couple foals watching me curiously. The other guard snorted - something between a snort and a neigh.

  I held my breath - I wasn’t entirely sure I could just go to another section and ask for a haircut.

  I was winging this whole day.

  Again, pretty sure I wouldn’t have done any of this if I wasn’t mostly delirious.

  “You need it,” the guard chuckled, and I let out my breath shakily. “Name’s Artoal, and she is -“

  “Jen,” the one who had raised an eyebrow cut in.

  “Beeg,” I smiled in return.

  “You look exhausted, kid,” Artoal said dryly, looking me over.

  I chuckled nervously. Before finding the book last night, I had worked with the AP squad.

  And we had made a visit to the Centaur Stables.

  “Long night?” I responded lamely.

  “Give ‘im a break, Art,” Jen cut in, walking over to pat me on the shoulder. I had always found horses majestic, but the smoothness of her gait was something else.

  “Stop by old Jenk’s shop,” she continued, “‘bout a mile down the main street, you’ll see his shop on the left. Can’t miss it. Tell him Jen sent ya,” she winked.

  “Thanks,” I smiled, and took my first legal step into the Centaur section.